| Still in touch with them sidewalks but most the time
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| Block to block my ride squats, I’m supposed to find
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| A way up out these streets but the Yoc keeps callin' my name
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| F*ck the money and the fame if suckaz want me to change
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| Cause I only know how to act one way
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| Ready for the gunplay, Monday thru Sunday
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| Many open woundz that still haven’t healed, my life is filled with
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| Eventually people I have to kill I shall deal with
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| Just let me get this mil ticket, so I could do this dirt
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| Then hit the block and still kick it, leave many mothers hurt
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| Their boys didn’t make the cut,
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| They should have raised their sons to keep their f*ckin' mouth shut
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| Them tears, I could give a f*ck
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| For years I’ve been feelin' f*cked in the game
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| Since sixteen I’ve kept a pistol tucked within' range
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| F*cked in the brain in more ways than one
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| I reminisce back to the days when I could taste the blunt
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| When we would blaze our guns down at the tracks and practice
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| Shootin' wild rabbits, police could never catch us
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| Northside rivertown, highway 4 to second street |
| Is the area of the Yoc that infected me
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| These opened woundz a tale certain people kill they’ll never heal
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| They turn material witness just to catch a better deal
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| They’ll never find your body do to decomposer
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| Your death gettin closer cuz Wood need some closure
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| These opened woundz a tale certain people kill they’ll never heal
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| They turn material witness just to catch a better deal
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| They’ll never find your body do to decomposer
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| Your death is gettin' closer cuz Los need some closure |